


fleur

by Argentina



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Flowers, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, Injury Recovery, Kissing, LET CLOVER LIVE RT, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, THIS IS THE HOSPITAL FIC WE NEED AFTER EP 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22472872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argentina/pseuds/Argentina
Summary: A month in the hospital, and Clover's feeling lost.Qrow's the last visitor he'd expect to see.(aka, a post v7e12 fix-it fic)
Relationships: Qrow Branwen & Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 161





	fleur

**Author's Note:**

> I LITERALLY TYPED THIS UP INSTEAD OF DOING MY HW AND NOW I NEED TO GO TO SLEEP??? SO
> 
> I GUESS I'LL BE WORKING ON MY STUFF DURING LUNCH AT SCHOOL BECAUSE I'M IRRESPONSIBLE
> 
> that aside, i hope this fic came out well! i may have rushed it because i decided to start it pretty late tonight, but i got it all done because i know we all need a fix-it to help us through the next 2 days until episode 13 and like i shall deliver
> 
> this is unedited and all mistakes are mine. if some sentences read weird that's also on me (why aren't there more hours in a day i literally need more TIME)

It’s been nearly an entire month since everything went down, and Clover is bored, to say the least. An inability, or rather the lack of permission to walk around and go about his usual activities has quickly been ensued by ennui. Clover thrives off of excitement. It’s one of the reasons why he got into the whole Ace Ops thing - he does it to feel the thrill of it. 

But lying in a hospital bed and having nothing much to do will have its consequences. Clover has a feeling that he’ll just snap one of these days and run out the doors of this overrated infirmary that Ironwood and the authorities insist he stay in to recuperate. He feels completely fine. It’s not like he got stabbed clean through his viscera just yesterday. 

With his luck, it’s no surprise he ended up making it out alive. Not that he’ll ever admit that he had his doubts in those moments Tyrian gained the upper hand and managed to strike him while he was busy handling Qrow, though. He’s glad the Atlesian soldiers got him help on time, even though he doesn’t remember it. Everything was a blur back then, in those moments where the pain muted all of his surroundings. He has a faint recollection of speaking to Qrow, and of the aforementioned man telling him that he’ll make Ironwood pay, but he doesn’t recall anything after that. 

He’s asked about Qrow a few times, but there’s only so much he can discover when he’s confined to an institution which allows minimal visits from outsiders. He’s only been able to converse with the higher-ups authorized by Ironwood. Said man hasn’t actually come to visit him yet, and Clover’s a bit annoyed, seeing that the only reason he’s caught up in the entire mess anyway is because of the orders he had to follow. He deserves an explanation. 

His room is minimalistic. Medical supplies and necessities are neatly arranged nearby, and little trinkets and knick knacks decorate the windowsill and table. If they’re supposed to make him feel less miserable, it’s not working.

There’s not much of a view outside the window. Everything is smothered in snow, and white is the dominant color during the day. At night, there are noticeable lights coming from buildings and street lamps for as far as he can see, but all they succeed in doing is reminding him of the luxurious life the Atlesian citizens are able to live at the expense of the people of Mantle. It makes him angry, almost, but it also causes him to feel penitent. After all, he’s been on the side of Atlas for the longest time, and he was willing to take Qrow down for the sake of upholding his status and fulfilling his duty as a leader. And throughout all of that, he believed he was _right_ for doing it. 

He’s had plenty of time to think things over, and he’s made a myriad of realizations in that time. For starters, he didn’t stop to consider what Qrow and his team were fighting for. He just knew that he was supposed to be against all of them, and that’s exactly what he used as justification for his actions. But in retrospect, they weren’t the true enemies. They weren’t who he really needed to be cognizant of, not when Tyrian and other despicable people were on the loose. He should’ve been smarter about this. He should’ve been more of an altruist. He should’ve been open-minded, at least. Qrow was fighting to protect Mantle, while Clover had never paused to focus on people below him. Qrow isn’t trying to save himself, but rather, other people, while all Clover wanted to do was serve someone he looked up to. God, he was an idiot. 

“Clover,” someone greets, and Clover shifts his gaze from the window over to the doorway, and he sees the nurse that he’s grown familiar with over the weeks. She’s on a first name basis with him now, and he doesn’t mind it at all. It’s nice to have a familiar face when there’s nobody else to talk to, which occurs all too often.

“Good morning,” Clover says in return, giving her a small smile.

She walks over to the table beside him and lays out a tray of food. Standard cafeteria breakfast. They repeat the food every few days to maintain a regular, set schedule, and Clover has long grown tired of scrambled eggs. 

“Thank you,” he tells her regardless, and picks his fork up. As mundane as it may taste, he needs to obtain his nutrients if he is to get out of this place as soon as possible. And he will. He’s not too keen on losing all of the skills he’s taken so long to hone. The longer he lays here, stuck in his own thoughts, the more rusty he’ll get on his fighting techniques, even though he already knows it’s going to be a pain to practice with his relatively recent injuries. He won’t ever be the same as he was before, and he knows it. He just wants to keep as much of his old self as possible.

“You’re welcome,” the nurse tells him, her brunette hair falling over her shoulder in a loose side braid. “How are you feeling today?”

He gets asked that every single morning. Without fail. It’s starting to become a nuisance rather than a genuine, caring exchange, even though he knows she means well and that she’s only following protocol. 

It’s not much different than when he follows protocol. He has no right to feel burdened. 

“Same as yesterday. Just sore. I feel much better than when I first got here, that’s for sure.”

The young woman laughs a little to herself. “That’s great to hear. If you’re lucky, you might be discharged very soon. You’ll have to ask your doctor for the specifics, though your recovery is coming along very nicely.”

“I see. I’m glad,” Clover says absentmindedly, pondering whether he should use the salt and pepper packets on his eggs. It might spice things up a little. He could use the change. 

The nurse leans on the wall for a few seconds before turning to leave. “I have to deliver food to the other patients. Take care, Clover.”

Clover simply nods to acknowledge her farewell, and promptly drops his fork when she’s out of the room and the door is shut all the way. He sighs heavily, looking back over at the small window. 

He’s not used to feeling so lonely. Just because he’s aware that he brought this upon himself doesn’t mean that he needs to like it. He could’ve had it all if he had just done it differently. If he had been a more considerate person. If he had admitted the way he felt to a certain someone. 

There are amends he needs to make the minute he’s let out of here. He doesn’t know what he’ll be doing for sure, or if things will go according to plan, since he’s most likely getting released from the Ace Ops. That’s the thing about soldiers. They’re dispensable. He’s never been important, and he could be replaced with a simple command ordered by Ironwood. He _will_ be replaced that easily, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it.

He’d never thought about the consequences of his actions until he’s drowning in the result of his faults.

If he could do it all again, he’d - 

“Clover.”

Clover turns around to the same voice he answered to just a few minutes ago.

“Yes?”

His eggs are still on the table, and that probably makes him look bad. The nurse isn’t focused on that, though. She’s looking directly at him, excited. 

“There’s someone here to see you. It’s been a few days since you’ve last gotten a visitor, but you definitely look like you could use the company!”

He cringes. Her voice is too cheerful, and it’s too early in the morning. And he’s not ready to face another interrogation. 

But he still forces a somewhat positive expression on his face. “Okay. Let them in.”

It better not be one of the general’s lackeys again. He’s already given them all the information he knows, so he if sees one of their faces once more, he swears he’ll - 

The man that walks through is someone he thought he’d never see again. 

“I’ll leave you two to it.”

The door closes, and he’s stuck in a hospital room with none other than Qrow Branwen. 

The guy smiles at him, but he has dark circles under his eyes, and he looks a little slimmer than when Clover last saw him. He looks more worn out, older. 

“Qrow?!”

“It’s me, the one and only,” Qrow says, chuckling. He has both of his arms behind his back, and he takes a few tentative steps forward, coming closer to Clover. 

“I-Wha-” Clover begins, but Qrow cuts him off. 

“Listen, it took a while, but they absolved me. Tyrian didn’t get very far in his attempt to escape, and everything has been sorted out for the most part.”

“How? I mean, how would General Ironwood ever let you come here? Even people I’m close to aren’t allowed in.” There are many things Clover would like to have clarified, but this is the most pressing matter. He had only been so concentrated on getting out because he didn’t think people were able to get in, but here Qrow stands, proving him wrong for the millionth time in the few months that they’ve known each other. 

“Ah,” Qrow says sheepishly, running his fingers through his hair, tousling it even further than it usually is. “I didn’t exactly get permission… But. That’s not what’s important as of right now.”

Clover looks at him with wide eyes, and Qrow supposes he’s still reeling from the fact that the two of them are actually meeting again, face to face. 

Qrow rolls his eyes. “Alright, you idiot, you’ve had enough time to think. Come here.”

Clover confusedly swings his feet to the edge of his bed, attempting to stand when he hasn’t done it for - 

His knees give out under the pressure, and he must’ve overestimated his abilities. A pair of strong arms catch him swiftly before he can collide with the linoleum floor. He sees a flash of orange as Qrow moves to support him. Something soft is pressed against his back, and it tickles his neck.

“What is that?” Clover asks, swinging his arms around Qrow’s shoulders and lifting himself up to enable himself to turn around, acting as if he hadn’t nearly fell out of sheer stupidity. 

“You tell me, genius. Your legs are wrecked, but your eyes still work.”

Qrow’s right. Clover eyes the bouquet in the raven-haired man’s hand. 

“No way. You brought me flowers!” Clover laughs, tipping backwards to bury his nose in them. 

“Woah, hey-” Qrow says, but he’s not quick enough to prevent them both from falling straight onto the bed. Clover lands on top of the flowers, and Qrow, thankfully, has enough sense to catch himself with his arms before squashing an already injured Clover.

“Don’t tell me you hit your head too, back when we were facing Tyrian. You seem to lack common sense,” Qrow grumbles, rolling over to lay on his back next to the brunet. 

Clover laughs again, and it’s a heartwarming sound. Qrow can’t help but crack a smile at that. 

Clover straightens himself up, retrieving the bouquet from under him. A few petals are left behind on the sheets. 

“Marigolds,” Clover muses, laying back down, hugging them close to his chest. 

“Yeah. Brightest of the bunch at the gift shop. I would’ve gotten you something less crappy, but I’m broke.”

“Pssh. You didn’t need to get me anything.”

“That’d be rude. To barge into your room empty-handed and without anything to offer.”

“What do you mean? You’re more than enough, and definitely worth more than these ripoff marigolds,” Clover tells him, rolling over. He’s half lying on top of Qrow now. Their faces are centimeters apart.

Qrow smirks. “Alright, smartass. Stop talking.”

And he leans up, locking their lips.

**Author's Note:**

> our ship will not be sunk


End file.
